


Dean Ambrose is a Fucking Idiot

by BarcelonaFanForever



Series: If It's Meant to Be It'll Be [1]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Confusion, Dean has feelings, Humor, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, Roman is the best friend we all need, and Roman is just there for it all, brock doesn't want to have feelings, kind of sad too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 05:13:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12763899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarcelonaFanForever/pseuds/BarcelonaFanForever
Summary: Brock stares at Dean from his chair, not moving, just watching. His eyes appear darker, even more soulless if possible."You have a lot of nerve coming here Ambrose. What do you want?"Behind him Dean can hear Roman softly muttering "Dear God, we're about to die, all because of this fucking idiot."





	Dean Ambrose is a Fucking Idiot

**Author's Note:**

> My first time writing in this fandom, I'm usually a soccer girl. But Brock Lesnar is my ultimate fave, and I really like this ship. Like A LOT. Comments, criticism, anything really is greatly appreciated! Hope you all enjoy!

“You’re a fucking idiot. Actually, I don’t know whose the bigger idiot. You for doing this, or me for coming through and supporting you.” Dean is broken from his musing, as he looks to see Roman wincing while holding a pack of ice to his forehead.

“You didn’t have to come with me, I could have handled this on my own.” “And explain to your mother, while she has to take the rest of her trips to the hospital for a good three months?

Dean laughs, imagining a sheepish Roman being physically assaulted by his mother in the middle of a hospital.

“Remind me why. Why is it that you of all people, want Brock fucking Lesnar to be your new friend?” Roman says incredulously as the two make their way down the long hallway of the latest arena they’re at.

It’s a good question, one that Dean doesn’t know how to reply. Brock Lesnar, is a phenomenon. One that in the whole time Dean’s known him, the latter doesn’t really know how to describe.

But there’s something about the Beast, that sets him apart from all the other competitors that Dean has worked with. The arrogance, the anti social skills, the really really relaxed schedule. There’s something about the wrestler that Dean can’t quite shake off.

*****

_June, 2004-_

_Dean can’t believe it. He’s in an actual WWE ring. Behind him, he can hear his mother and his agent murmuring over some things. It’s business time for the adults, and Dean doesn’t think about anything before dashing down the ramp. It all feels natural, as he scrambles under the rope, the cold floor feeling refreshing against his skin. He doesn’t know how long he’s laid there, but he doesn’t want to get up._

_“Dean. DEAN.” His mother’s voice quickly snaps him out of his reverie. He turns around to see her leaning on one of the ropes smiling at him fondly. All of a sudden, he’s hit with appreciation for his mother._

_The lady who sacrificed countless hours of her life to make his dream her dream, the one who has picked him up after bump, bruise, broken bone, cut and mended him. He’s filled with love and appreciation for her. And suddenly a lump fills his throat. If she notices, she doesn’t say anything. Placing a hand on his face she leans in whispering “Make me more proud than I already am.” And then she pulls away, quickly. Picking up her bag, dabbing her eyes, throwing him one last smile before she walks out leaving Dean alone. *_

_***_

_He sits there for a while. The entire arena is completely empty. Dean navigates the various ways he can get in and out. He calculates his moves, sliding in and out, using his phone to time himself. He does this for a while, feeling the burn as he throws punches in the air._

_“AND THE CROWD GOES WILD FOR DEAAAAANNN AMBROSSEEEEE” he even practices his potential entrance, emitting his own boos and cheers. When he’s done, his chest hurts, his lungs are screaming. But the pain is nothing compared to the joy he feels. It’s when he checks his phone, that Dean notices how much time has passed._

_He still needs more time to find his room, get a bite to eat and head in for the night. As he gets up, mentally wincing at the amount of pain his body is in, he turns around and runs into something. Actually, make that someone. Instantly Dean hits the ground from the impact landing on his back, his head snapping against the floor, blinding him temporarily._

_When the pains subsides Dean’s angry. Whoever it was, didn’t they see he was there? “What the hell? You got an issue?” he says as he shakes his head frantically trying to rid himself of the ringing noise that has accompanied his sudden head injury. When his hearing finally does come back, he hears a soft chuckle._

_And when he does look up he’s faced with a giant. A blonde, tattooed, shirtless giant. This giant is staring back at Dean, a faint smirk playing on his lips. But it’s his eyes, the eyes that draw Dean in. They’re blue. The color is enhanced by barely noticeable eyebrows. It’s the look in those eyes though. They’re soulless, Dean notes with a shiver. It’s almost as if the owner has seen an eternity of pain and managed to shield himself at the same time._

_The giant is no longer smiling, now he looks angry and Dean figures out it’s probably his unfiltered staring. Should he take a step back? Dean’s feet make the decision for him as he finds himself widening the gap between him and the giant until he’s on the other side of the ring. He turns, still feeling the stare burning into his shoulderblades._

_Breathe Dean. Don’t die here before you’ve even wrestled._

_His hands shake as he slides under the rope, and when his feet touch the ground he breathes a sigh of relief._

_“Hey you forgot something!” Presumably, the giant speaks. Dean turns around to see his favorite leather jacket currently in the hands of the man._

_“It’s not mine. It was there before I got here.”_

_Lies. But Dean doesn’t want to go back in the ring. Not because he’s scared, but because that man looks like he’s ready to rip him to shreds. He walks out to silence. Keyword, walks._

_If anyone stated that they saw the newest wrestler Dean Ambrose practically speed-walking out of the ring. That was pure bullshit._

_***_

_The next day Dean shows up to his jacket hanging in the hook in his locker. The note attached says “From Brock L.” Dean doesn’t get a chance to thank Brock. Not that he wants to. And plus he couldn’t because Brock is gone the week after._

*****

Dean’s interactions with Brock are limited after that. “The Beast Incarnate” as he’s known is not friends with that many people. Or at least not friends with the people Dean is friends with.

After a while he forgets about Brock. Well forgetting would be an understatement, he still sees him on the rare occasions Brock shows up with Paul Heyman in tow. And even if their path does cross Brock makes no attempt to acknowledge Dean. He glances at Dean dismissively as if Dean’s not worth the dirt on his shoes. It hurts, but after a while Dean gets used to it.

And soon he too forgets Brock. Until Roman get’s it in his head to challenge Brock.

Dean shows up that night to hang behind stage to support Roman. He’s not scheduled to come out, and yet he finds himself tensed as Brock finally does step out. For starters, Brock is huge. As he attempts to roar along with his theme music, Dean mentally wonders if it’s too late to write an obituary for Roman. He’s basically pulled his phone out to call Roman’s mother, when Paul Heyman delivers the first scripted line to ignite the light.

Dean drops his phone watching with actual genuine concern as things get more and more heated. But it’s when Paul Heyman’s mask slips for a minute, the actual look of concern crossing his face that gets Dean to run out. He barely registers the crowd going wild as he runs down the ramp. Roman looks surprised as Dean jumps up onto the ring to stand with him.

The crowd goes even more wild, and somewhere Dean knows the heads are probably losing their shit. When he does stop focusing on the crowd he turns to face Brock and Paul. Which is another big mistake, because Brock’s directed his attention to Dean this time. Dean swallows hoping his wide eyed crazed expression doesn’t show much his heart his hammering inside his chest. It must work because Brock cocks his head for a second, his expression calculating.

It’s not the look of someone whose surprised. Rather it’s the look of a predator. Dean stares back because his mother didn’t raise no damn chicken okay? Brock’s expression doesn’t shift, but his lips curl up in a smirk. He takes one step towards Dean, and to his side Dean can feel Roman tensing up, ready to fight if needed.

It’s not scripted, but Dean knows Roman will lay his life down for Dean if he needs to. Brock takes another step, and this time Roman steps forward. He’s not shielding Dean, but he’s standing just a few feet ahead. Brock stops this time, much to Dean’s surprise. The Beast no longer looks angry at him, but it seems more directed towards Roman.

Luckily, their time is almost over and Paul Heyman chants his regular phrases promising the crowds that they’ll be back and that Roman will get his due served by the beast. Paul motions for Brock to leave, and the latter offers up his last smirk for at least a week before stepping back out of the ring. He’s made it halfway up the ring when Brock turns back. He looks straight at Dean and winks. Full on winks. Dean’s heart drops even more, and he turns around to see if anyone saw that minute gesture.

The crowd is too busy though, and by the time Dean looks back at the ramp he only catches a glimpse of Brock’s back disappearing behind the curtain.

*****

“That was insane” Roman proclaims as they disappear behind the curtain. Picking up a spare bag of ice left on a table, Roman positions it on the corner of his forehead. “By the way thanks for coming out man. The heads are gonna have your ass though.” Roman turns towards Dean frowning as he notices his friend clearly not paying attention.

“DEAN. Are you even listening to me man?” Roman waves a hand in front of Dean’s face, perplexed that the dirty blonde isn’t showing more emotion. It’s not that Dean doesn’t want

to pay attention, he’s just thinking about the wink. That fucking wink. What the hell did Brock mean? Was it foreshadowing to a particularly painful future? Was it a ploy? Maybe the creatives did anticipate something like this and it was a ruse to knock Dean off his game? Images of an angry Brock cornering Dean in the dark flooded him. Maybe Brock was just going to ambush him in an ambulance. Worse, Brock was going to drive him into an ambulance. How did that even work? Dean didn’t know. But he wanted answers. After all, maybe some minute dust particle got into Brock’s eye and he happened to wink right as Dean looked at him.

Fuck it. He’s going to get answers. He knows damn well, that Brock stays for at least a half hour before leaving. A half hour would be enough time.

“Come on. We’re going to go see Lesnar.” he says grabbing Roman’s arm.

The Samoan pulls his arm out of Dean’s grip looking stunned. “Are you crazy? We just fucking poked the Beast in front of thousands of people, and now you want to go and what? Play make up?”

“No, I just want to ask him something. Maybe we can be friends of screen.” Dean tries to explain his case feebly. If Roman didn’t see the wink, Dean doesn’t intend to let him know. It would only take one final push for Roman to flip completely. Roman doesn’t buy it, and he looks at Dean in a way as if Dean has just told him he wanted to go live on Mars.

“If you don’t want to come, I’ll go by myself.” Dean snaps as he looks down at his watch. Twenty minutes left, it would take five minutes at least to get to Brock’s room. That leaves another five for Dean trying to keep Roman and Brock lunging at each other. So really, he only has ten minutes.

“No wait. I’ll come. Whatever is going on, I’ll be there with you. And after we’re done talking to Lesnar, and hopefully staying in one piece. Then, I want the actual truth and not this bullshit you’re expecting me to buy.”

Roman looks at Dean, his game face on leaving no room for argument.

“Fine. Now can we please go? We’re already down to 12 minutes.”

****

By the time they actually reach Brock’s room they’ve had to stop a few times. Two because while running Roman dropped his ice. Dean watches impatiently as Roman scrambles to collect the partially melted ice that’s burst out of the bag.

“I can’t go without an ice pack. What if Brock wants to come at me? This will at least hopefully give him some compassion in his peanut sized heart.”

Dean doubts Brock will stop fighting regardless of how injured Roman is, but he doesn’t point that out. When they finally reach the room, Dean is pleased to see Paul Heyman walking out on the phone carrying his bags. That means Brock’s alone. Somehow, the thought calms Dean down, enough to help him catch his breath as he leans panting against Brock’s door. Roman is no better, the Samoan flopping down dramatically as if he’s ran a marathon instead of down a flight of stairs and a rather long hallway.

“Are we actually doing this?” Roman wheezes like an asthmatic old man.

Dean shakes his head, too tired to say yes. It’s too late to say no. So without waiting for Roman, Dean musters every inch of courage before pushing the handle open.

******

Brock’s room is like his personality. Frigid and cold. Dean can feel the air blast on his arms, raising goosebumps. Or maybe those were already there. He can hear Roman murmuring soft curses from behind. It feels like a horror movie, and any minute Dean is expecting Brock to burst out of nowhere and take them on an unofficial tour of Suplex City. He balances on the balls of his feet, because he’s ready to throw a fight.

“What the hell are you doing here? You got a lot of nerve coming here Ambrose. What do you want?” Brock fucking Lesnar is sitting in the front of the room on a bench.

Dean feels like a fucking idiot scouting the room like they were in some mystery show, when clearly Brock would be right there. The blonde is half dressed in street clothes, a pair of sweatpants loosely hanging off his hips. His hair is wet, whether from sweat or water Dean can’t tell. It just adds to the intimidation.

Roman squeezes Dean’s shoulder so tightly, Dean is sure there are going to be bruises. Brock’s face changes when he notices Roman’s hand. From angry to downright furious and Dean suddenly wonders if Brock has an issue with Roman and Dean just happens to be the monkey in the middle.

“I asked you what you want.” Brock’s voice drops lower and lower with each word inching closer to his temper being unleashed. Dean mentally wonders how many punches he can get in before Brock probably breaks his back.

“We need to talk.” He says. Brock sits up, his posture not relaxed but not on edge either. “Talk about what?” Brock seems disinterested focusing his eyes on everything but Dean.

That pisses Dean off, and he shrugs off Roman’s warning hand before raising his voice. “Listen I don’t know how your side chick Heyman does it. But how I’m raised, a real man pays attention. But then again I guess you’re not a real man, otherwise your wife wouldn’t have left you.” The comment is a low blow, and Dean knows he shouldn’t have gone there. No one really knows that much about Sable. She was barely there during the shows, and then one day Brock showed up without a ring. Fortunately, no one on the roster was dumb enough to not figure out what happened, and even smarter to not mention it. But clearly, Dean has lost his brain.

The comment works though because Brock practically leaps across the room. Any anger he’s holding in, has been unleashed and now he’s in Dean’s face snarling. “Watch your mouth Ambrose. Otherwise I’m gonna rip your fucking tongue out of your mouth and hand it to your friend.”

“Look we don’t want any trouble-” Roman starts talking only to be cut off by Brock. “I’m not interested in you or your stupid ass words Reigns. It’s Ambrose I have the problem with right now, so if I were you. I would just shut the fuck up right now.” The threat hangs loosely in the air and Roman takes it seriously, shutting up. Brock turns to Dean breathing heavily. His eyes still look furious and Dean mentally wonders if Brock really does have the issue with him.

It doesn’t matter though, because Brock looks impatient as he steps back. “Speak Ambrose. I don’t have that much time left.” as he says that Brock is already bustling around the room picking up his gloves and his bag. He balances the bag on his shoulder, sticking one leg out balancing on it as he waits for Dean to talk.

“Here’s the thing, me and Roman are down a man. You need some support since practically everyone on this roster hates you. So why not join us?” Dean blurts out at super speed cringing as Brock stops walking.

“Dean- what the hell are you doing?” Roman mutters out of the corner of his mouth.

But Dean is too focused on the Beast to even reply. Brock looks thoughtful. “And what would I get out of it?”

“Are you stupid? I just said you would have two people who aren’t out to get you. Have some extra manpower then that screechy turtle you have on your side.” “DEAN” Roman nearly bellows but Dean is insistent. He’s called Brock an idiot far too many times, but it’s better than confessing to the blonde that his main idea was to find out if there was any sexual innuendos being dropped.

“Don’t insult my intelligence Ambrose. I’m not stupid.” “Really? I couldn’t tell.” Brock is smirking again, which is good. It means he’s not out for blood. He stares at Dean for a while with that same look he had in the ring.

“Fine it’s a deal.”

“What?”

“WHATTT?” No one flinches as Roman nearly yells again. Not even Brock, who reaches for Roman’s hand for a handshake. The Samoan is just as dazed as Dean feels while Brock initiates the handshake, dropping his hand and patting it too like Roman is a dog being rewarded for a treat.

When Brock takes Dean’s hand the shake is more meaningful. Dean’s heart races as Brock shakes it, and for a second it seems as if the world stops. The Beast holds Dean’s hand for more than a second, his grip not too loose but not too tight either. For a man that’s out for blood, Brock’s hands are surprisingly soft. When Brock lets go, it feels like a void and Dean’s hand hangs in the air before he realizes how stupid it looks.

“So it’s a deal then?”

“A deal Ambrose. Welcome to Suplex City.”

This time it’s Brock who walks out first, leaving Roman and Dean to stare at each other in wonder. “Did that- did that just happen?” Roman sounds as if he can’t believe it.

Dean can’t either, but his phone pings and he pulls it out, confused on who could be sending a message at this time. _Tomorrow. Make sure you and Reigns are here early. Got to take that tour through Suplex City. -Brock L._

A smile unfolds across Dean’s face as he reads the text again. “Yea. It did.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm finally done with this part! These will be mostly one shots documenting the relationship, but I may throw in a few chapters here and there. Sorry for the sucky writing towards the end, I just couldn't think of how to end the chapter. ALSO SURVIVOR SERIES IS TOMORROW AND HOLY FUCK I AM NOT READY. BROCK THE LOML I AM INCREDIBLY NERVOUS AND EXCITED.


End file.
